


Contact

by StarDrifter759



Series: Quantum Mirror: Stargate Alternate Realities [7]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fake Goa'uld Lantash, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Goa'uld (Stargate), Jolinar and Lantash were never mated, Lo'tar Sam, Slave Sam, Slave Trade, Slow To Update, Tok'ra (Stargate), Undercover Missions, Undercover Tok'ra Operative
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2020-09-24 11:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20358106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarDrifter759/pseuds/StarDrifter759
Summary: "I can't force you to take this mission, Major. I won't."Sam's mission - should she choose to accept it - is to go undercover as a lo'tar for an established Tok'ra operative.Welcome to a universe where Lantash is a field agent, has no mate, and Jolinar jumped into Daniel instead of Sam. A universe where the Tok'ra decide their man in Anubis' court could use some back-up and the SGC agrees to help.





	1. Your Mission, Should You Choose To Accept It...

**Author's Note:**

> **FAIR USE NOTICE:** This story contains copyrighted material the use of which has not been specifically authorized by the copyright owner(s).Such materials are being used in a transformative purpose to explore character development in written works. Author believes this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. In accordance with Title 17 U.S.C. Section 107, the material on this page is distributed without profit. For more information go to: https://www.copyright.gov/title17/92chap1.html#10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have no self control, another story! [Enter Unenthusiastic 'woo' here] Also an - eventual - multi-chaptered fic. Hope you enjoy a verse where Lantash and Jolinar were never a thing, and our protagonists meet each other for the first time when undercover at Anubis' court.  
Have fun darlings!  
_**StarDrifter**_  
P.S. This chapter is basically 2k words of dialogue.

“Any idea what has your dad looking like something that came outta the back side of a horse?” Jack asked quietly as SG-1 took their seats in the briefing room, all eyes on the pair in Hammond’s office.

“Not a clue… but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

“You could say that again,” Daniel muttered as the hard faced men entered the room.

“Hey Sammy,” her dad greeted tiredly with a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Hey dad. What’s going on?”

“Well that’s what we’re here to talk about. The Tok’ra have requested our assistance in one of their operations.” Hammond answered.

“It’s about time!” Exclaimed Jack, leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t be so eager Jack. It’s a doozey.”

“Okay… so what’s the mission?” Daniel asked, shoving his glasses farther up his nose as he looked between Hammond and her father.

“In short, to go undercover and assist our man in the field.”

“And the long version?” Sam asked.

Her father sighed, suddenly looking older than he ever had. “We need someone to go undercover as a lo’tar – a Goa’uld’s personal slave – mainly for the purpose of disseminating the information our operative gathers.”

“Huh. You know I’m kinda surprised we haven’t thought up an arrangement like this before. It makes perfect sense. The Tok’ra and Tau’ri agents would be able to rely on and help each other.”

Jacob opened his mouth to reply when he was cut off by the Colonel with a terse, “Why now?”

“Normally, our operatives don’t need the help… but this one is about as deep in enemy territory as it’s possible to go.” He sighed heavily, folding his hands together on the table before starting again.

“Two years ago, just before you met the Tok’ra for the first time and I blended with Selmak, they’d begun to hear whispers of a new player entering the field. It was decided then that an operative would be sent. His mission was to follow the whispers, discover this new Goa’uld, gain his trust, sit tight and work toward a high position while gathering as much intel as possible.

“Six months ago we heard from him for the first time. It was a basic outline, and the time and place for a drop. After going over what he’d sent, the council decided it would be best to place someone as his lo’tar. Because lo’tars are both trusted and practically invisible at the same time, the hope is that it will make it easier and safer for our operative to pass on the intelligence he gathers. The upcoming drop will be the first real batch he’s sent us.”

“You sure he’s still your man? Two years and next to nothing to show for it?”

Sam sighed heavily at the Colonel’s continued mistrust.

“Oh he’s our man alright. That basic outline he sent means we know more right now than the System Lords do. And it’s not pretty.”

“So who is this ‘new player’? If you’re hoping for one of our own to take a risk like this we need to know everything you do.” Daniel said calmly.

“It’s someone the System Lords tried to do away with six hundred years ago for committing crimes even they couldn’t stomach. Anubis.”

“Anubis, god of the dead, guardian of the underworld - that Anubis?” Daniel gasped.

“Sounds kinda like Sokar.” Sam mused aloud.

“Oh believe me, he makes Sokar look like a Girl Scout.” Daniel winced at her father's off-hand comment. 

“Wonderful, just what we need, another wack-job.” O’Neill muttered.

“And you really think placing a human as his lo’tar will help?” Daniel asked, speaking over his friend.

“Unquestionably.” Selmak spoke for the first time. “Lo’tars are incredibly trusted, but neither Goa’uld nor Jaffa pay them much mind. The main risk actually comes from other human slaves who may be jealous of the position, and seek it for themselves; however even that risk can be largely mitigated.

“The drop is scheduled to take place at an elite auction for personal slaves that happens annually on Noctura. This will be the first time that Anubis has allowed our operative to leave his controlled territories, and indicates he is becoming trusted, and accordingly given a higher position within Anubis’ purview and the honor of choosing his own personal slave. Ideally, our assigned ‘lo’tar’ would be purchased by our operative at that time.”

Hammond cleared his throat. “The Tok’ra have brought this to us, hoping a member of the SGC would volunteer. A soldier able to defend themselves would be ideal. However, as stated, this individual would more or less live the life of a slave for the duration of the mission.”

“They would also be required to learn at least basic Goa’uld. The Tok’ra would prefer to have no less than four weeks to train that, as well certain etiquettes that will be expected of a lo’tar, and give a crash course on how to use our technologies and weapons.”

“Motherload.” O’Neill finally perked up.

“Woof, I don’t know Colonel. It’s a lot to learn. I’m not sure the human brain is capable of taking in and retaining that much information in such a short time.” Sam said.

“We don’t expect perfect retention. Just enough to get by and look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Okay, what other criteria are you looking for in a perspective candidate? I mean, I doubt you want to shout this from the rooftops, but this kinda thing is also not something the Air Force can strictly order anyone to do… is it?” Daniel suddenly looked around as if concerned that someone would come out of nowhere and force him to do something. Sam rolled her eyes as Hammond responded.

“Actually, our treaty does leave this sort of cooperation open. As for the air force… it would typically be something assigned to a black ops team, but that is not the way the Tok’ra operate, and since this is their operation, any participation by SGC personnel would be strictly voluntary.” The General clarified.

“Actually Sam…” here her dad hesitated, sighing deeply before continuing. “We were hoping _you_ would consider taking this mission.”

“Hell no!” O’Neill exclaimed.

“Colonel,” her voice was strained.

“You’re a member of my team, my 2IC and I say no!”

“It’s not your call Jack.” Her father said tiredly. “And we’re not forcing her.” He stood and prepared to leave. “Sam, think about it. If you have questions, write them down, I’ll be back in two days, we can continue this discussion then.”

* * *

“So, if I were to accept this assignment, aside from duties as a lo’tar – which we’ll talk about before I agree to anything – what exactly would I be expected to accomplish?”

“Well, as I said the other day, the main point of this is to increase the frequency with which we receive intel from our operative in Anubis’ inner circle. You would basically be the middleman in that process. As his lo’tar, your access would be almost entirely unrestricted. Most lo’tars sleep either on a pallet in their master’s room, or in an antechamber attached to said room - depending on the preference of the Goa’uld – and available at all times. You are expected to be with him, and if you aren’t, then everyone who sees you will assume that you are simply completing a task he asked of you. Following orders. To question a lo’tar about their activities is to question the Goa’uld they serve, something no Goa’uld would tolerate.” 

Sam nodded in understanding, absorbing what her father was telling her. “Okay, so basically, he’d give me a communiqué and I’d send it to the Tok’ra?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“Okay and how would I do that?”

“That would depend on the situation, and how urgent it is that we receive the intel. I would expect him to regularly assign you tasks that have you leaving the boundaries of wherever he lives. That will develop a pattern, make it expected. When you’re in position, you transmit the communiqué, then destroy it. All the communiqués, and the frequencies they broadcast on, will be encrypted. We’re less worried about Anubis being able to read them than we are that he’ll pick up signals being illicitly broadcast. There’s a good chance he monitors his underlings for that sort of thing. Betrayal is not exactly unexpected behavior, but it’s one he won’t tolerate.”

“So Anubis is probably monitoring the Tok’ra operative, because he’s a ‘Goa’uld’ and Anubis at least anticipates the possibility of betrayal from another symbiote, but the lo’tar – being a lowly human slave – wouldn’t be monitored the same way. Making it relatively safe for said lo’tar to transmit the data.”

“Pretty much, yeah. You got the gist of it.”

Sam scoffed at the hubris Goa’ulds were so prone to.

“I know Sammy, it’s arrogant as hell. But you’re forgetting that most Goa’uld think of humans as animals. They don’t even believe that we’re fully sentient. Do humans expect betrayal from their dogs? No. They expect loyalty. The only time Anubis may begin to pay closer attention to you is if he suspects our operative of being – not just another ambitious Goa’uld - but a Tok’ra.

“If you agree to do this… he’ll look after you. I promise. I may not have met this joe personally, but I have all of Selmak’s memories, and I trust his assessment of character.”

“I don’t need ‘looking after’ dad.”

“This is uncharted territory for you kiddo. You’ve never been so near the Goa’uld way of life before. It’ll be a very stressful assignment Sam.”

“If I take it.”

Her father nodded solemnly. “If you take it.”

She cleared her throat after a moment of silence. “Lo’tar isn’t… synonymous with sex slave, is it?”

“No,” came the emphatic reply. “I won’t deny that it happens occasionally, but no. You know those personal assistants celebrities have?” He continued.

She nodded, bemused.

“It’s a lot like that. You’ll know everything that he’s doing, ongoing projects, what’s coming up in his schedule, social requirements – if he has any. You’ll attend his meetings, play head gopher, and get his meals, order other slaves to take care of tasks if they need to get done quickly and need more than your two hands. Etcetera.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad. A little sexist and degrading maybe, but perfectly doable.”

“Oh it’s not sexist. There are just as many male lo’tars as female, and they all have more or less the same tasks. It’s definitely elitist though. I’ll give you that one. And whatever the word is for looking down on another species.

“But you wont be mistreated if you agree to this Sam. I’d never ask anyone to play lo’tar to an actual Goa’uld for any length of time, but he’s a Tok’ra, just playing a part. If you agree to this, you’ll look after each other. He’ll watch your back, and you’ll watch his.” 

Sam nodded to show she understood, nibbling on her lips as she thought it over. “Can I have another day to think about it?”

Her father met her eyes steadily. “Of course, Sam. The Tok’ra don’t need someone assigned for this mission for another week. If you decide that person won't be you, maybe you could do some recon for us and feel out who it might be?”

She chuckled lightly and rolled her eyes. “Sure dad, I’ll ask around for you.”

* * *

A day later she stood in the briefing room with her team, General Hammond, and her father. The General broke the silence.

“I can’t force you to take this mission, Major. I won’t.”

“I know,” and she did. Looking around she met each set of eyes individually before she spoke. “I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure, Sam? George is right, you don’t have to do this.”

“I know Dad. But if Anubis is as dangerous as you obviously believe, and if my going could raise our chances of success in a direct confrontation against him… then there really isn’t a choice, is there? I’ll support your operative.” She said with finality. 

An awkward silence reigned for nearly a full minute before the General spoke again, sounding bone weary.

“Alright Major. If this is what you want to do, I won’t get in your way. You can back out at any time and come home. I’ll have a new IDC made for you. In the meantime, you have five days to pack up and get your affairs in order.

“SG-1 dismissed.” He barked and immediately turned toward her father, making it clear that the parents were gonna talk and the kids needed to go elsewhere.

Filing out of the room she noted that Daniel looked sad but understanding, the Colonel looked equal parts angry and incredulous, and Teal’c was as impassive as ever. Sam sighed. This conversation was not going to be fun.


	2. Auction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING:** This chapter deals heavily with **slavery**, and depicts **people** being auctioned off as property. 
> 
> Enjoy the humpday surprise. Life's about to get crazy and I don't know when I'll get the next chapter out - this coming from an unreliable updater at the best of times.  
Hope you like it lovelies!  
Drop a comment or kudos, I love me some feedback.  
_StarDrifter759_

Sam stood in the cold, crowded holding room (though that may have been a generous description) set-aside for the personal slaves waiting for auction. Something that may have been nerves – if she wasn’t disassociated to the point of feeling outside her body - fluttered in her belly.

The last six weeks had all led to this. One at the SGC convincing everyone who stuck their (uninvited) nose in, that this was her decision and no she wouldn’t change her mind. A grueling four spent with the Tok’ra; drinking daily doses of a nasty potion that darkened her wheaten fair hair to a warm chocolate brown, thrice daily treatments with some sort of (itching, burning, tingling, hell spawn) salve that encouraged her darkened hair to grow at over twelve times it’s typical rate, etiquette lessons every morning, physical fitness routines, afternoons with the Tok’ra technicians, evening language lessons; being familiarized with fabrics, food, jewelry, styles, culture, and customs. It had been overwhelming, and would have been impossible if they hadn’t retrofitted a memory recall device to improve comprehension and retention. Then the last – seemingly unending - week at the auction house; being subjected to skin treatments and doctors examinations, some more personal – and mortifying - than others. Being tested and prodded. She was ready for this shit to be over, and her actual assignment to begin.

A low hum sounded through the room, the warm lighting changing to a cool blue. It was time.

Sam took a deep breath as the keepers ushered the first slave into the ring circle; where he would be transported to a different building, spend five minutes on display in the equivalent of a glass cage, while his listed attributes appeared on the bidders’ data pads. Then he would be transported to yet another room, either to be washed and dressed, made ready for his new owner, or to wait further assessment, depending on the outcome of this first round of bids.

The Tok’ra had told her that it wasn’t unusual for there to be no buying bids placed on some slaves (roughly half) during this initial round, as all the bidders had the option to place an “inspection” bid, which allowed them to examine the potential slaves personally, and in closer proximity. Of course, the only time an inspection bid (or several) would overwhelm a buying bid is if there was enough Shesh’ta involved – but even then, the house ran the risk of the slave not being bought at all if none of the bidders’ were pleased following their “inspection.” This was the reason the Tok’ra had been confident that she would _not_ be swiped out from under their operative. He would place a buying bid in round one.

Assuming of course that he was given the proper number. He didn’t know what she looked like, hadn’t even known before…. Well right _now_, that he would even be buying a slave. Most likely he’d intended to place a few inspection bids and then allow himself to be outbid when it came time to buy. He was here for one reason – an intelligence drop. And Sam didn’t even know the Tok’ras’ _in_ into the auction house. What if the operative misunderstood the code? What if the numbers given to the slaves were changed, and bidding started before the house informant could pass that on? If that happened, she could end up a legitimate slave to a Goa’uld.

_Calm down Sam_, she told herself. _You won’t do yourself any favors by getting worked up about something you can’t control. You’re just stressed and exhausted. It’ll all work out. The Tok’ra know what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it for two millennia for cripes sake. Everything will be fine. It’ll be fine_.

When she still struggled to feel calm, Sam began to get irritated with herself. She flew F-16s during the Gulf War, logged over one hundred hours in enemy airspace. If she can fight in a war without breaking a sweat, she could damn well stand on a pedestal!_ Get it together Sam._

She was annoyed that her little pep talk had been necessary – when it hadn’t ever been before – but felt better for it. If nothing else it’d helped her to identify her anxiety. She knew how to be Major Carter. Knew how to channel adrenaline to fuel her will without clogging up her brain. Knew how to be Doctor Carter, how to look at a problem with objectively and logic, knew how to use science to discover and problem solve. …But she didn’t know how to be helpless. Didn’t know how to rest her life in the hands of an unknown ally. A distant Tok’ra operative, who hadn’t even been in the tunnels when they’d met the Tau’ri, hadn’t been involved - quite possibly didn’t even know about - the new alliance, who may or may not treat her with the respect due to any ally. She didn’t know how to let her life be the baby bird held by unknown hands – entirely dependent on a stranger’s mercy.

With nothing to do but wait, Sam cleared her mind and timed her breaths, then played a little game in her head by listing every star she knew by name – alphabetically. Still waiting, she moved on to equations. Halfway through her second list, the keepers – none too gently – guided her into the ring circle.

A blinding flash of light and she stood naked – save for a white loincloth - on a pedestal, in some type of force field. More lights preventing her from seeing the faces of the bidders. She allowed her eyes to glaze, and continued her game while she stood still and straight, and waited out her time on display. At least it was warmer in here. 

The rings once again raised around her. She nibbled her lip. This was the moment of truth. Either she’d be sent to the preparation chambers, or the secondary holding chambers for those awaiting “inspection”. The rings descended, light fading to reveal the baths.

So that was it. She’d been purchased.

Warm fragrant air curled around her, dampening her skin, even before she was ushered to the stairs that lined the inlaid pool and doubled as benches. The loincloth was removed before she descended into the water. Sam sat passively as the wash-maids took over, several sets of hands, red from the hot water, scrubbed every surface of her body, careful to remove all traces of the painted gold symbols that had lined her arms. When they were satisfied with her cleanliness, she was passed to another set of wash-maids, who silently encouraged her to swiftly dip herself into a different pool, small but deep, and filled to the brim with lukewarm, chamomile scented water.

One of the slaves that had preceded her in the baths, disappeared with two minders through the curtains on the north end of the room, while the rings on the south end activated again, depositing another newly purchased slave. She was ushered to the baths in the same manner as Sam and all the rest had been.

The rough pull of a comb through her damp hair drew Sam’s attention back to herself. Several firm tugs later Sam was moved to stand in a marked circle that reminded her of the ring transporters. A hard rush of warm air, moving from her head to her feet and back again, efficiently dried her. Oil was then rubbed into her skin and smoothed through her hair before she was removed from the wash-maids care and taken through the curtains on the north end herself.

The antechamber was small, little more than hallway and walk-in closet combined. Here she stepped into soft pale blue slippers and was swathed in a fine linen, bleached white, with sash and trimming the same blue as her slippers; denoting her as a freshly sold personal slave.

All auction house slaves wore similar linen garb. White linen with gold trim and sash denoted a slave that belonged to the house. Unlined kalasiris of white or a natural unbleached hue meant an unsold slave; white for those deemed suitable for more direct service to a Goa’uld Lord and unbleached for the laborers. A purchased slaves’ designation was then denoted by the color of trim and sash – sky blue for personal slaves (the future lo’tars), and a deep purple for pleasure slaves, while laborers were merely given a rope tied about the waist to differentiate between sold and unsold.

Stepping through the door at the opposite end of the antechamber from the curtains, Sam was met with a contingent of keepers. The one immediately to her right scanned her iris without even properly looking at her, before referencing her data pad.

“Lord Kharon; pickup assignment fourteen, sector seven.”

Two of the contingent stepped forward, nodded to the one who had spoken, and moved to stand one in a formation around her, giving her no choice but to follow their lead as they began to walk away.

The journey from the preparation chambers to her new “lord” was passed in a haze. While the scientific part of her mind wanted to observe and catalogue, Sam truly had no desire to remember the sights and sounds of people being treated like cattle – and in some cases even worse. She winced when, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the vacant expression and traumatized eyes of a beautiful young man whose kalasiris was edged in violet. She didn’t understand how a society as technologically advanced as the Goa’uld hadn’t moved on from slavery. 

The Tok’ra etiquette lessons proved their worth when she bowed automatically in sync with the keepers – though deeper – despite not having realized that they’d arrived at their destination. Said keepers left with no further ado, their task accomplished, while Sam kept her eyes submissively lowered, despite her burning curiosity to finally lay eyes on the operative. The very one she’d devoted some measure of thought to daily for the past month and half.

“Jaffa!” A deep, reverberating voice barked. “Take my new lo’tar to the tailor immediately! Tell him Lord Kharon wishes for a full wardrobe to be made and delivered by the end of the week and for him to provide something suitable for her to wear in the meantime. Not those… rags.”

“It shall be done my lord.” A snap of heels and creak of armor accompanied the statement.

“Wait,” A rustle of fabric. “Cover her. I do not wish for greedy fingers to rob me of my newest possession.”

“Of course my lord,” The Jaffa respectfully assured, before turning toward her. “Human! Our lord commands you to wear this.”

Sam took what appeared to be an outer robe of some kind and dipped into a curtsey, murmuring “Thank you my lord,” as she slipped into the fine garment, still without meeting her new “lord’s” gaze. 

Kharon ignored her, dismissing her with simple lack of acknowledgement.

“Come!” The Jaffa snapped. She hurried to rise and followed him through the auction house corridors, making sure to get a good look at the Jaffa so she would recognize him later on.

Eventually they stepped outside - the exterior of the auction house reminding her of the Greek temples - from the base of which sprawled what looked like a nighttime bazaar. A hive of activity, teeming with life beneath strings of colored lights and Noctura’s twin moons. The Jaffa stopped to make sure her distinctive kalasiris was concealed by his master’s robe, then firmly grasped her arm and used that steer her through the vibrant crowds and merchants hawking their colorful wares.

“You are lucky, human.” He said, voice low and brusque but not unkind. “Give Lord Kharon no reason to be angry with you, and you shall live a good life.”

“Yes, my lord.” She responded, because in the Goa’uld’s feudal society, Jaffa ranked above all humans, and were more or less the vassals to the humans’ peasantry.

She couldn’t help but wonder about the statement though. Why did he feel the need to pass along that particular advice? Was he typically generous toward humans, or had he noticed some Tok’ra-like tendencies from Kharon?

She didn’t think on it for long. The sights, sounds, and smells – from both ends of the spectrum – of the bazaar proving too great a distraction. Far too soon for her liking she was pulled unceremoniously into what was quite clearly a couturier’s shop – haute couture at that. Every fine fabric the Tok’ra had introduced her to was represented here, in neat swatches. No actual examples of finished work were shown, no clothes on racks waiting to be bought. The foyer was small, neat, and clean. No doubt the fabric and designs were held secure in the back of the shop. She already knew that there was no way Kharon had sent her to a human clothier, which left…

An abnormally tall, willowy man stepped up to the counter from behind the curtain barring entrance to the back room.

… A Goa’uld.

“Ah, a servant of Lord Kharon, I see.” Dark eyes snapped from the Jaffa to her. “Here about a wardrobe for his newest…” He trailed off, and Sam felt a blush ignite on her cheeks. With her kalasiris – and it’s indicative coloring – hidden, the tailor didn’t know if he was dressing a pleasure slave or a lo’tar.

“Lo’tar.” That Jaffa answered smoothly.

“Excellent, excellent!” Long bony hands met and rubbed together, apparently excited about the prospect.

“My Lord Kharon wishes a full wardrobe, to be delivered by the end of the week, and whatever you have for the meantime.”

“Yes, yes.” The strange Goa’uld said testily, gesturing them toward the curtain he’d entered from. “This way. I need to know what I’m working with first. Come!”

Sam had to admit that the Goa’uld tailor was efficient. A few seconds on a podium, a quick scan of her body to determine accurate measurements, and they were off. It turned out that he did have some ready-made clothing in the back, the fabric not as extravagant as what was displayed in the swatches, but still better quality than any clothes she’d ever worn before, and apparently quite simple for him to adjust to her. If this was what he could slap together, she was legitimately intrigued to see what would be delivered in a week’s time. Granted… the dress she was wearing could probably pass as negligee back on Earth… but she _did_ feel beautiful - and oddly powerful, despite herself – wearing it.

The floor-length front and back panels of the black ensemble were shaped to flatter her figure and held together by nothing but a series of thin, sinuous straps; one over each shoulder, then running zigzagged from beneath her arms to just below her hips. Her feet were shod in supple leather boots, feminine but flat. Gold, serpent armlets circled her arms, her dark hair now cinched at her nape with a matching cuff.

Sam politely ignored the Jaffa’s wondering gaze as the tailor wrapped several more garments in unassuming brown parcel paper, and tied it off with string. Making a decision, she shrugged back into Kharon’s comfortably too-big (not to mention butter-smooth) robe, choosing to wear it open, before accepting the package she was expected to carry, and followed the Jaffa back out into the bazaar with a modest air.

It was a few blocks (could you even call them blocks? This place was a maze, in fact… she was pretty sure they were on a different level than they’d started on… and she hadn’t even realized this place _had_ levels) later when she decided that she definitely hadn’t seen these stalls before. A fissure of worry shot through her. Why weren’t they going back the way they came?

She doubted he had nefarious purposes for it – despite that being a very real possibility. The Tok’ra had told her that not all Jaffa were like Teal’c. Many delighted in their power over humans the same way the Goa’uld delighted in their power over the Jaffa. But she still doubted it. The only words ha had spoken to her were of sound and sincere advice. He hadn’t been trying to mislead her. So where were they going?

Soon the stalls dwindled, the streets became quiet as they left the hustle and bustle of the bazaar behind, and the answer became clear. The shipyard. He was delivering her directly to Lord Kharon’s vessel instead of returning to the auction house. Probably for the best, all things considered.

Reaching the tel’tak they were greeted by another Jaffa, who assessed her coolly. In fact, despite the obvious age difference, he rather reminded her of Bra’tac.

“Lo’tar,” he addressed her. “Our lord wishes you to make ready for his departure. We embark within the hour.”

She gave an aborted bow to show her understanding and assent before quickly moving to the co-pilot coms. Until she and Kharon had a better working relationship and understanding of each other, “make ready” essentially translated into “handle his basic needs.” Like ordering his dinner, and making sure his living space is clean and/or functional.

Thankfully, the Tok’ra had prepared her for this, and not only taught her etiquette and expectations typical of those in her current station, but a few key phrases in Goa’uld as well. Something like her very own Lo’tar’s Phrasebook – which included ordering dinner - in addition to the actual language lessons she’d suffered through daily. Though seriously, how they could expect anyone to remember the veritable mountain of information they’d shoved in her head was amazing. She was also choosing to be salty and ignore that their artificial interference in the form of the modified memory device meant they’d succeeded. After what they’d put her through she could be salty if she damn well pleased. Especially considering that her foreseeable future would be spent as a slave because she’d been crazy enough to agree to this.

Task completed and shaking off her thoughts, Sam stood and began to head through the ring room to the personal quarters when she noticed that both the present Jaffa were eyeing her with suspicion. Why, she didn’t know, but could only guess it had something to do with wondering why an apparently competent and marginally pretty lo’tar had ended up on the auction house floor. Oh well, no time to dwell. Moving on.

As she had expected, Sam found that the four person crew quarters had been converted into Kharon’s personal quarters. Three of the Murphy-style foldout cots were put away. The one that was open had had it’s mattress replaced, and was covered in luxurious bedclothes.

She couldn’t help but smile at his purposefully mussed bed. While the Goa’uld handled shockingly few of their own basic needs, the Tok’ra – living a more militaristic lifestyle - did everything for themselves, including making their own beds. Having grown up with an older brother, Sam knew what a boy’s unmade bed looked like. And three corners on this one were perfect. She imagined Kharon had made this bed out of pure habit, realized it broke with his character, and haphazardly tossed back one corner, so that to the casual observer it would look unmade.

Still grinning at the notion and her imagined view of the scene, Sam sat her parcel on the floor and quickly straightened the covers before moving on to a cursory examination of the storage cubbies. She used the most remote and inconvenient for her still-wrapped clothes, and then grudgingly removed his robe and placed it with the small selection of clothes he’d brought for himself.

Not knowing when he’d arrive, and not wanting to be caught dallying by the already suspicious Jaffa (especially when as a newly placed slave, she should be doing everything within her power to ingratiate herself to her new lord) Sam hurried back toward the outer door. She needed to be waiting for his arrival just inside the entrance.

The Jaffa were talking lowly together in the pel’tak, occasionally glancing at her but otherwise not acknowledging her. It wasn’t long before she saw a line of people approaching. She squinted, wishing Noctura’s moons were brighter. Another Jaffa, walking beside an auction house slave, and… she swallowed heavily, several slaves behind them. As they drew closer she realized that these slaves had not been purchased from the auction house, but rather from a more common flesh market in the bazaar, and that the auction house slave was bringing the dinner she’d ordered for Kharon.

She accepted the hermetically sealed container and did her best to ignore the dispirited people that were filing past her – which was easy, as they seemed to be avoiding her as well - likely being led to the cargo hold. Swallowing down the bile produced by that realization, she moved to take the meal to Kharon’s personal quarters, pulling down a tray and quickly fetching utensils.

Hurrying back to the tel’tak’s entrance, she again placed herself to await Kharon. And was unfortunately greeted by a fourth Jaffa, this one with three slaves that _were_ from the auction house - laborers. Though… they were likely bottom of the barrel by the auction house’s standards. The man was older and scarred, his back beginning to hunch, one of the women was missing a finger and the other had a clear case of Vitiligo.

Sam couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Kharon – an undercover Tok’ra – had bought them in an attempt to give them a better life. Maybe this was the only thing he could for them in his position as a Goa’uld Underlord.

However at the moment, ruminating on the possibilities wasn’t of particular importance. There was nothing she could do to help them, except what she was already doing. And a lone figure was approaching the tel’tak - striding toward her with purpose.

Her heart rate picked up, racing in anticipation. Kharon. The operative she’d been preparing every hour, of everyday, for the last six weeks, to work with. He moved with confidence, strides long and sure, his figure cast in cool shadows by the pale light of the moon.

She bowed low at his approach, eyes once again downcast. “My lord.”

“Lo’tar, attend me.” He commanded without breaking stride. He continued toward his quarters, snapping orders to the Jaffa in Goa’uld. Sam – who still hadn’t gotten a proper look at him - hot on his heels.

The concealed door to his quarters slid closed behind them, locking with a simple tone. Alone and in private, Sam finally raised her eyes to meet penetrating celadon for the first time.

* * *

SG-1 sat miserably around the table in the briefing room. Sam was impossible to replace, period. Not only because of her brilliance, but because she was – in many ways – the heart of their unit. As the last six weeks had unequivocally taught them, they relied on her. More than they’d ever realized.

They didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough the General came back, with Jacob right behind him.

Jack sat straighter at the sight, leaning an elbow on the table. “Well…?” He asked.

Jacob sighed, the worry lines in his face burrowing deeply. “It’s done.” He said with a decisive nod.

“I still say you should have let us go with you. One of us at least. Danny Boy here speaks enough Goa’uld, he could have gotten by as a lo’car or whatever it is.”

“Lo’tar.” Jacob, Daniel, and Teal’c said in unison.

“And no Jack. The council’s reasons aside, it’s not something I wanted you to see. Hell, I didn’t want to see it.” The Tok’ra groused, dropping heavily into a chair.

“Would’ve been fine.” Jack quietly insisted to the table.

Jacob scoffed. “You really think so Jack? You would’ve been fine seeing Sam treated like she was nothing? Would’ve been fine watching Goa’uld place bids on her?”

He was met with silence. None of them would have been okay with that and they all knew it.

“But the operation was successful?” Hammond asked, getting them back on track.

“Yeah, we just heard back from the contact we sent. Everything went as planned. Our operative made the drop, received his orders, and… _bought_, my daughter.”

“Feeling a mite regretful there?” Jack gracelessly prodded at the obviously raw nerve.

“No.” Jacob spoke with finality. “But that doesn’t make this easy for me. Far from it. I recognize – better than you do – the importance of what Sam’s doing. And I trust our operative. But it’s still hard to send my kid out into it. Even knowing that she’s well equipped, and more than capable. She’s still my baby girl.”

To break the tension, Daniel interjected with a question that’d been bothering him for, oh… six weeks, now. “So are we ever going to learn this operative’s, name?”

Jacob smirked. “Eventually… maybe.”

“And why not now? Carter’s out there with that bozo, and we’re her team. I think we have a right to know.” Jack tried to press Daniel’s point.

“Actually no. You don’t have a right to know. It’s not your operation, and you already have too much delicate intel; frankly, more than enough to make you a security risk. This is an imperative operation. Anubis isn’t ready to come out of the shadows yet, but he will be soon. And we’ll need every advantage we can get when the time comes.

“But I’ll tell you what. If it’ll make you feel better, I promise that if he makes it out alive, I’ll tell you his name. Hell, I’ll introduce you. Happy?”

“No,” Jack sullenly responded.

“That makes two of us then, doesn’t it?”


	3. Lord Kharon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short but... better than nothing, yeah?

The silence between them stretched and held. Sam’s gaze still caught in captivating, pale green. She licked her lips, heart hammering. Honestly at a loss of what to say to him. She felt like she knew so much, was as prepared as she could be to work undercover alongside him, but she realized in that moment that about _him,_ she truly knew nothing. Not even his real name.

Kharon raised his hands and gestured, ‘Do you sign?’ in Tok’ra Sign Language.

Sam raised her hands to respond, lips twitching into a grin as she did. ‘A little. I know basics, letters, and numbers.’

Kharon returned her grin with an encouraging smile of his own. ‘Good. It’s best that we communicate this way. Anubis is known to listen.’

Sam frowned and struggled with her signs. ‘Listening d-e-v-i-c-e-s?’

‘Yes. I check regularly for s-u-r-v-e-i-l-l-a-n-c-e’ he spelled, then showed the sign, making sure she made the connection between them, then continued, ‘d-e-v-i-c-e-s.’ Again he showed the sign for the word after spelling it out. 

She nodded to show her understanding, still unable to completely smother the grin that twisted her lips. It was good to have proof that he was indeed a Tok’ra, good that he was approaching her as an ally that deserved respect, good that he chose to easily teach her instead of being frustrated with the limits of her knowledge.

Her cautious hope for an equitable working relationship soared to new heights. Maybe one day they’d even manage to call each other friend.

‘What is your name?’

‘S-a-m-a-n-t-h-a C-a-r-t-e-r. My friends call me S-a-m.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, S-a-m-a-n-t-h-a. Where are your clothes?’ He asked abruptly.

Sam blinked as her mind recalibrated to the sudden topic change. Her clothes? Frowning now, she pointed to the cubby she’d chosen.

He smiled at her brightly, signed his thanks, and retrieved her still packaged clothes. Thoroughly confused, she watched as he deposited the package on his bed and rifled through its contents, eventually pulling out a device she recognized from the Tok’ra Technician Labs.

The tailor! He was their in! A Tok’ra! At least that was one mystery solved. Only a million more to go.

He turned to her, something akin to concern wrinkling his brow as he studied her. ‘You’ve had a long day; you should eat and rest. We have thirteen hours here. Talk about our situation can wait.’

While she was feeling the exhaustion that came from pushing herself so hard for an extended time, Sam also felt like a tightly coiled spring. She honestly wasn’t sure if she would be able to relax enough to sleep.

Kharon looked around the room and quickly saw the hermetically sealed container and accompanying utensils waiting on a tray. ‘I wanted that for you. I’ve eaten.’

‘For me?’ Sam was surprised and touched that he’d considered her wellbeing. Even if she had been the one to order the food, it _had_ been because of a command he gave through one of his Jaffa. ‘Thank you,’ she signed.

Kharon smiled softly, brow still furrowed in concern, and handed her the tray. ‘Eat.’ He gestured to his bed, ‘Rest.’ Moving across the room, he pulled another cot from the wall and continued to sign to her. ‘I need to work.’ To emphasize his point he held the Tok’ra device aloft, ‘We will talk later.’ He then settled on the plain, undressed cot, fiddling with the gadget and leaving her to her own devices.

With halting, mechanical movements, Sam unsealed the container and nearly moaned at the delicious, savory smell of some heavily spiced sauce that instantly filled the room.

Consciousness came slowly. The heavy weight of her limbs and acrid taste in her mouth telling Sam just how deeply she’d slept. Yawning, she stretched until her back popped. Abruptly remembering where she was, Sam shot upright, catching the falling covers in surprise.

That wasn’t right… she distinctly remembered settling on top of the covers. Lying on Kharon’s bed had been awkward enough – especially with the man in question still in the room - but crawling beneath the covers had been too… personal, intimate, and invasive for her to even consider at this juncture. So instead she’d curled up in a ball to keep warm. More aware of how very little her dress left to the imagination than she’d been all night. Despite that awareness and the coil of anxiety she’d fallen asleep remarkably fast. The last few weeks had certainly been exhausting enough to warrant it.

Sam slid from the bed, bare feet touching the cold metal floor of the tel’tak. Kharon wasn’t in the room. But a pitcher, basin, cloth, and cleansing dental rinse, were resting in an opened drawer. Easy enough to infer that she should freshen up and – she plucked at her very wrinkled dress - change as well. After quickly sorting herself out and once again making the bed, Sam floundered.

Now what?

She didn’t know what to do in this situation without Kharon’s guidance. If he had treated her like a lo’tar after they’d retreated to his room, she’d know what to do, how to behave. But no lo’tar would be treated as an equal, would be allowed to sleep in their master’s bed. She had, apparently erroneously, assumed he’d be here when she awoke. They were going to talk about their “situation” after all. He hadn’t told her what to do if she woke alone.

Sighing, she decided that acting as his lo’tar meant when in doubt, act like his personal maid. In other words, the safe bet in this scenario. She gave her clothes and hair one last adjustment then picked up the tray and food container. There was a small ‘kitchenette’ closet near the similarly disguised privy in the engine room and at the moment she needed both. 

One thing at a time.

Sam tried her best to maintain an air of respectful disinterest as she followed Kharon through the expansive corridors of his base. She’d call it a palace, except it lived mostly inside the snow-covered mountain. The floors and walls a dark marble - thankfully free of hieroglyphics - glassless windows spanning the full height of the ceiling’s three stories, sheer curtains swaying. The act had largely been for the benefit of the other newly purchased slaves, who seemed to be under the impression that she had been Kharon’s established lo’tar. Which made sense of course; she had been waiting faithfully, dressed in full lo’tar garb when they had all been brought aboard the tel’tak.

However now, it was just the two of them. Walking along the passageway to Kharon’s personal suite. After a brief pause at the apparent dead-end, the wall slid away with the low sound of grinding stone. The airy space beyond lit with the weak glow of the setting sun.

Sam was itching to speak, but a gesture from him stalled her. Crossing the threshold, she stood near the closing entrance, watching critically as he swiftly moved about the room, pausing briefly at several points, almost as though he was inspecting. Eventually he stopped, breathing a relieved sigh.

“We may talk now. I have activated several frequency dampeners. Nothing we say will be overheard or recorded.” He breathed, dual voice no longer sounding harsh, but instead drained, as he sank onto a chaise. “I am sorry that we were unable to continue our conversation in the tel’tak.” He gestured to the unoccupied furniture as he spoke, encouraging her to sit.

“That’s fine,” Sam assured, moving into the sitting area and gingerly perching on the edge of an overstuffed divan. “But, before we really talk about our situation, I’d like to know why you bought more slaves yesterday. Was it just to disguise me? So that buying me didn’t stand out?”

“No.”

They measured each other in the silence that followed.

“Then why?” She asked at length.

He pulled in a long breath, looking suddenly exhausted. “That is related to my work here.”

She nodded in understanding, encouraging him to continue. They needed to talk about that too anyway.

“Anubis covets the position of Supreme System Lord formerly held by Ra. However, the System Lords have driven him from power and left him for dead in the past, thus he cannot reveal his survival to them until he has amassed the strength necessary for a swift and decisive victory. Or at least enough to give them pause over starting a war with him. This need for secrecy dictates that he have only a small coalition of loyal underlords, most of whom fulfill multiple roles. Myself included.

“This moon is rich in trinium ore, and one of my primary directives is to oversee the mine and guarantee it meets production requirements. A task made difficult by not only limited workers, but constraints on the food supply as well. The environment here is not suitable to agriculture of any kind, and the subsistence arrangements in place for the slaves are woefully insufficient. Were I to attempt to meet the minimum production requirement with only the slaves and provision imports I was given, I would work them into the ground very quickly. As such, I have had atmospheric shielding expanded and greenhouses built and cultivated.

“The laborers acquired from the bazaar markets will bolster their numbers enough that I can arrange a rotation between the hard work of mining and the quieter work of managing the gardens and fowl coops. Those from the auction house have more knowledge and will serve as managers and oversee the greenhouses, kitchen, and housemaids respectively.”

“So you actually are trying to improve their lives.” Sam stated, pleased and impressed. It was obvious to her that he cared, and just as obvious that he was frustrated by the limits of his current position.

“It is not as satisfying as seeing a world set itself free, but it is an accomplishment nonetheless.”

“What are your other directives? You said that managing the mine was only one of them.”

“Yes. Anubis seeks advancements in several technologies; my focus is on shield and power efficiency improvements. In this vein I have been given an old ha’tak of Ra’s to experiments with, along with a data crystal that contains fragments of Ancient knowledge, likely pilfered from a damaged outpost.

“Lastly, I test the skills of Jaffa who wish to join Anubis’ personal guard in various forms of hand-to-hand combat and the jo staff.”

“That’s quite a skill set.” Sam was impressed; he seemed to be something of a jack-of-all-trades. Then again, one could make similar arguments about herself, a soldier, scientist, and now a spy.

He accepted the complement with a gracious incline of his head. “I owe my skills in martial combat to my first host, who was a gifted warrior, my ability to read Ancient to my Queen Mother, and my understanding of our advancements in technology and it’s inner workings to the genetic memory we all share. Though I have made efforts through the centuries to cultivate and advance myself in these fields among others.

“As for your position here,” he trailed off, scrutinizing her with shrewd eyes. “You will inspect the greenhouses to assure functionality on a bi-monthly basis. No other human is allowed in my private quarters without your direct supervision. Lo’tars are also generally expected to handle most matters that apply directly to the Goa’uld they serve and to generally manage their households. Meaning you will assign duties as to the house and kitchen maids as you see fit – or as I order. Thankfully, Anubis’ court is focused on preparing for war and not on internal politics. This will make your life easier as I don’t expect to be entertaining any Goa’uld in the foreseeable future. Though it is possible that I will be summoned to Anubis or called to meet with others who occupy similar positions in his court. If that does happen, you will most likely accompany me.”

“I understand.” Sam nodded.

He studied her with shrewdly, expression solemn and perfectly serious when he questioned. “Do you?”

She swallowed, remembering everything she’d learned in the last six weeks about Goa’uld culture in relation to human slaves. It wasn’t pretty.

“Yes,” she assured quietly. “I do.”


End file.
